Death Watch

"You have a beautiful family. You're a lucky man," she said. Then after a second or two, added, "And they're lucky to have you as a dad and a grandpa."

He smiled, accepting the compliment graciously. He was starting to feel sleepy again, and he knew when he closed his eyes again, it would be the last time. He didn't bother telling Heather; there wasn't anything she could do. He had watched her as she looked at the monitor, and she didn't have a very good poker face.

"Do you have a family, Heather?"

She nodded, with the warm smile that a woman has when she thinks of her family. "Yes. A little girl who's five, and twin boys, three. My husband's a cardiologist upstairs."

"You're married???" he cried in mock horror, then laughed. "I was just about to ask you out on a date!"

She laughed, too, putting her hand lightly on his arm. "I wish I could have met you a long time ago," she said quietly, meaning it. If they could have become friends years earlier, she could easily see herself elevating this sweet and kind man to a position of being a second father to her. She had never even known her real one.

"Me, too," he said. "Since I can't ask you out, can I invite you to my funeral?"

"Wouldn't miss it," she whispered, her voice cracking ever so slightly. She would be there, she knew. She almost never went to patients' funerals, and rarely enough stopped by the funeral home to pay her respects. But this one she would. Even if she had to trade shifts with another nurse, she would not miss it. A tear escaped her eye, moistening her cheek, and she let it fall. The charge nurse would ream her a new one if she knew, giving her a lecture about not getting emotionally close to her patients, but what the charge nurse didn't know wouldn't hurt her. Heather wouldn't tell, and sadly, very soon Mr. Cox would be past the point of telling anyone anything.

She would be there. He saw it written on her face as plainly as he had seen the bad news written there after she looked at the monitor. He was very sleepy. But there was one more task he had to do before he went. The voice had told him so, as plainly as it had told him that Leonard was not the one. But it hadn't been necessary to tell him. He had known from the moment he saw her. He hoped an opportunity would present itself to broach the subject, and it did.

"So, that's your pocket watch, huh?" she asked, looking at it admiringly. "I've never seen one before, except in pictures. May I see it?"

He picked it up off the bed beside him and handed it to her with a smile.You'll be seeing this one a lot.He felt too choked up for words. Did the previous Keeper feel this way as he passed it on, that day in the street? Did they all, since the beginning of time, feel the immense pride of being trusted with such an awesome responsibility for sixty years, and the great relief and joy of knowing it was safe in the hands of the next to carry it?

"It's beautiful," she smiled. "Is it a family treasure or did someone special give it to you as a gift?"

"Someone very special. A very dear friend, a long time ago."Whose name I never even knew...

She delicately closed the lid and started to hand it back. Brian shook his head, and took her hand in both of his, gently closing her fingers around the gold case.

"It's yours now. Take care of it and it will take care of you. Sixty years from tonight, you will pass it on to the next."

She was about to protest that she couldn't accept it, that such a beautiful timepiece belonged with his children or grandchildren, when something happened that she didn't understand but would never forget. The watch seemed to grow warm, the most pleasant, most intense warmth she had ever known. It was like holding joy in the palm of her hand. And then she saw it.

Keepers are never given more than they can handle. No human brain could grasp even the tiniest fraction of what the watch represented, but each Keeper is given as much a peek as they can tolerate short of madness. Brian Cox was a good, kind man, but he was also a simple one. As a result, he was given only a tiny peek. Heather got a much larger one.

In an instant, she saw the entire universe as small as a grain of sand, and saw dimensions she had never dreamt existed, realms made entirely of color or sound. She saw the concept of time presented in a way she could understand. Then at the base of it all, she saw how everything, from the universe to the smallest atom, with all the dimensions, melded into one, all fitting together and working together as beautifully and precisely as this watch she now held. She understood why it had chosen to take this form, because the clock mirrored so closely the nature of the universe. In that instant, it felt as though she existed in every place, in every time, past, present, and future, simultaneously

Then, just as quickly, it was over, and she was back in ICU-4. The experience was overwhelming, so much so that she felt utterly exhausted and had to put one hand on the bed to keep from falling over. It was as ephemeral as a dream, but at the same time she knew in her heart it was a dream that would be with her forever. A voice full of love seemed to whisper in her ear, "Sixty years."

She nodded weakly and smiled. "Sixty years," she repeated. Sixty years to be the latest caretaker, the Keeper, of inexpressible joy and delight. Her eyes were closed, because she felt the moment she opened them it would all fade away, and she never wanted this to end, not for sixty years, not for eternity.

His duties satisfied and his work completed, Brian Cox lay back on the bed. But a distant part of his brain told him that it wasn't the bed, because no bed could be this soft and welcoming. It was like lying back in the arms of his mother as he listened to her soft voice say, "Sleep".

The blare of alarms brought Heather's attention back to the here and now. The cardiac monitor showed a flat line. Asystole. Peaceful. Like turning off a switch. She looked at him. His eyes were closed and his face was a picture of serenity and peace. She understood. It was how she herself would one day die, she knew. Not in the same way, perhaps, but in the same joy and peace. Just as every Keeper had, since the beginning of time.

She reached up and turned off the monitor, silencing the alarms. There was a clock on the wall and she wore a wristwatch, but to use either of those to mark the time seemed hollow, almost an insult. She clicked open the case on her new but eternally old pocket watch. Time of death, 3:18 a.m., she noted for the records. In a few minutes Brian's body would be on its way to the Morgue. Tomorrow there would be a new patient in this bed. Probably within the hour, in fact.

But that would be some other nurse's problem, at least for the next couple days. She just wanted to go home, take a hot shower, and go to bed. If she was lucky, she might dream of Brian Cox, and the untold thousands of other Keepers, now in a place of special honor in the cosmos. If she was very lucky, maybe she would dream of her own place, sixty years hence. Maybe they would let her go to that dimension made entirely of blue. Or purple. She liked those colors.

She bent over the head of the now-late Brian Cox. "I'll take good care of it. I promise," she whispered. Then she kissed him and walked out of the room.

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So, what did you think? If the story seems a bit dark or morbid, there are two reasons for it: one, many Twilight Zone episodes were dark, and two, it was originally written at a dark time in my life. Less than two months previously, a close friend had been suddenly killed by a drunk driver; Diana – or "Dee" as she preferred – was not only a very close and very dear friend, but also the beloved wife of our closest and dearest friend, Matt